


To Old Friends And Older Enemies

by Kemmasandi



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Morning After, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 07:47:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11286825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kemmasandi/pseuds/Kemmasandi
Summary: Megatron and Optimus come to an agreement.





	To Old Friends And Older Enemies

_i know you tried to stop me_

_but truth be known, a man will always be his own worst enemy_

 

When Optimus Prime woke that morning, it was to sunlight streaming in through the window of his berthroom, and the whine of fanbelts coming from an old and very familiar hulk in the berth next to him.

He ran through his memory files of the previous night. A flash of white, a taste of slick energon against his glossa, and the next few frames lit a fire on his aching groin, tongues of warmth licking sensuously up the insides of his thighs.

“Oh,” he said aloud. “I see.”

The frame at his side gave a tetchy grumble of ancient parts. Something went _clunk_.

Well, thought Optimus, it had been bound to happen sooner or later.

He levered himself to the side of the berth, shuttering his optics as the contents of his fuel tank rebelled. That was Sideswipe's cocktails. There was no mistaking that flavour of nausea, nor the sticky sour aftertaste that glued his glossa to the roof of his intake.

He spared a moment to thoroughly regret the life choices that had led him to this moment in time, particarly those which involved saying yes to certain intoxicating beverages, and stood.

It was morning. And he intended to act like it.

Drawing a datapad from his subspace (they seemed to breed in there, which was a little worrying) he scrawled a quick message on the notepad function in a shaky but precise hand, and left it on the nighstand for his erstwhile berthmate, whenever said personage deigned to return to the land of the awake.

A rattling snore followed him out the berthroom door. No surprises there.

 

* * *

 

By the time Megatron lurched his way out of the cold grasp of recharge, it was early afternoon, and the shafts of sunlight that had lit the berthroom had moved onward.

He blinked in the sheltered gloom, brows pulled down in a habitual glare, and pushed himself half-upright. His back complained, old war wounds fretting about the state of his body these days. The war might be over, but time marched ever onward, and though Megatron did his best to ignore it there were signs that crept in past the blinds of his studied ignorance.

Whose berthroom was this? Not his, that was for sure. The corner of his mouth twitched upward. Didn't look like Starscream's, either. Starscream had more style.

Let's see – plain grey walls, big window, low down enough in the building to see the tops of the new crystal growth outside in the plaza. Datapads everywhere.

He ran through his recent memory files. There was the touch of large hands, the eager spread of pale thighs and the deep, ringing cry as he speared deep within his willing captive, warm and wet and grasping, neither of them drunk enough for it to matter but enough to forget old memories and have _fun_.

“Heh,” he said aloud. “Not bad, Prime.”

“I heard that,” said a voice from through the closed door.

Megatron stood, shaking off the last vestiges of the hangover, and poked his helm out into the living room beyond. He half expected something to be thrown at him – not that it was all that common, but Prime had fight in him, even when it was himself he fought against, and Megatron could respect that in a mech.

Instead, his old nemesis bent to retrieve something from a benchtop chiller. “Good morning, Megatron,” he said. “Afternoon, rather. I see why the pile of hardcopies in your inbox grows ever taller.”

“Oh, shut up,” said Megatron. “I get things done.”

“Yes, things like scaring the ambassadors and denting my Autobots on the training grounds.”

The old warlord smirked again, showing denta. “Tell me, did I dent you last night?”

Disappointingly, Optimus only looked up and smiled. “You certainly tried. Unfortunately, I haven't found any yet, but if I do so, I will be sure to let you know.”

Megatron found a chair, and made himself at home in it. “Aah, how unfortunate. I shall have to try again later on.”

Finally, Optimus reacted, if only with a faint frown. “I feel as if you're trying to needle me.”

“You started it,” said Megatron.

They looked at each other, red optics meeting blue. It was the sort of look where Megatron might have expected some inexplicable mutual understanding to pass between them, were he younger and more romantic. But the moment passed without epiphany. He looked down, and his attention was caught by the tray of wobbling energon jellies in Optimus' hands.

“You cook?” he asked.

“It is something of a pastime,” demurred Optimus. He gently placed the tray on the table, but despite his care, a few of the jellies slid apart on impact. “I am not very good at it,” he added.

Megatron shrugged. His approach to gastronomy had always been something along the lines of 'if it's edible, who cares?'

He reached out, took a jelly, and popped it into his mouth. “Not bad.”

“High praise from you, I am sure,” said Optimus.

Megatron ran his glossa across his lips and smirked. “Nothing less, my Prime.”

A flicker of something wicked went through Optimus' EM field. He moved, smoothly and suddenly, around the table, and straddled Megatron's lap. “You are needling me,” he growled. “Is there something you want from me?”

Megatron laid his hands on Optimus' hips. Those white thighs were scraped and streaked with silver, bare armour showing through beneath the paint. “Only this,” he said. “You and I have waited long enough.”

The Prime gave him a long, long look. Then his optics dimmed, and he moved forward, pressing his chassis against Megatron's. “I wouldn't quite call it waiting,” he replied, in a low, warm murmur, “but yes. Yes, we have.”

 

_it's easy to try_

_i'm waiting here for you_

_the last thing i want to do is say goodbye_

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for a follower on my roleplay blog a long time ago, and only just realised I hadn't posted it here. Let's rectify that.


End file.
